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Homily - Love That Refuses to Dominate

Homily - Love That Refuses to Dominate

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 The Father Who Does Not ControlA Homily on the Sunday of the Prodigal Son St. Luke 15:11-31 In the parable of the Prodigal Son, our attention is often drawn to the repentance of the younger son or to the resentment of the elder. But before we look at either son, we must first look carefully at the father. What stands out immediately is not simply the father's mercy at the end, but the way he loves throughout the story. The father gives an astonishing amount of freedom to his sons—but his love is not passive, negligent, or withdrawn. It is neither controlling nor indifferent. It is something more demanding than either. When the younger son demands his inheritance, the father does not argue. He does not threaten. He does not bargain. He does not attempt to manage the future. He divides his living and lets the son go. This is not ignorance. This is not indifference. This is love that refuses to become domination. As Nikolai Velimirović reminds us, the father in this parable gives far more than justice requires. When the son demands what is "his," justice would permit the father to give him nothing at all—for apart from what his father gives, the son possesses nothing but dust. Yet the father gives him more than dust. He gives him life and breath, conscience and understanding. He leaves within him a spark that can still recognize hunger, remember the father's house, and find the road home. As St. Nikolai says, he gives this "not out of justice, but out of mercy," preserving within the son a light that may yet be rekindled—even in the far country. Freedom is permitted, but grace is not withdrawn. And this unsettles us—because we know the danger the young son will face. And so does the father. Freedom Is the Risk the Father Takes—But Not the Whole of His Love The father does not need to be warned about what lies ahead. He knows the far country and all its terrible temptations. He has watched his son grow. He knows his immaturity as well as his great potential. He knows that his son will probably fail. He knows that his son will probably be hurt. And still, he lets him go. The younger son leaves because he is free. The elder son stays because he is free. And the father loves both sons without controlling either. But this does not mean the father is hands-off. The father does not manage his son's choices—but he does shape the conditions in which those choices will be understood. He does not eliminate consequences—but he ensures that consequences can teach rather than annihilate. He does not chase his son—but he preserves the meaning of home. A human parent is often tempted to intervene constantly—to explain, threaten, restrain, or negotiate—motivated by what the parent calls "love." This father does something harder. He does not protect his son from failure. Instead, he protects the possibility of return. The Far Country and the Formation of Repentance The son's freedom leads him exactly where freedom so often leads when it is exercised without wisdom: [it leads] to waste, hunger, and despair. He spends what he has been given. He discovers that independence cannot sustain life. He finds himself reduced to feeding swine, longing even for their food. This is not accidental. The far country is real and so are its dangers. Freedom has weight. Choices have consequences. The younger son suffers. Yet even here, something remains alive within him; the memory of his home and of real love. The spark the father put into him through years of his strong example and sacrificial love has not gone out. He remembers the house. He remembers bread. He remembers that it would be better to be a doorman in the house of his father than live in the palaces of the far country – much less among its swine. And so, at last, he comes to himself. This is the risk the father was willing to take—not merely rebellion, but suffering—so that wisdom could be learned rather than imposed; so that the movement from willfulness to self-control would not be coerced; so that repentance would be real, and not merely compliance; so that the son's growth into authentic manhood would be genuine. Love, here, does not manage outcomes. It prepares for, cultivates, and then, Lord willing, blesses the return. The Father Runs: Love That Restores Without Controlling When the son returns, the father does something no respectable patriarch would ever do. He runs. He does not wait on the porch. He does not demand explanations. He does not require proof of sincerity. He runs, falls upon the son's neck, and kisses him. The son begins his confession, but the father will not let him finish. The father does not allow him to negotiate his way back as a servant. He never seems tempted to belittle him or his bad choices. The repentance is already there. And so He restores him fully—as a son. The robe is placed on him. The ring is given. The shoes are fastened. The feast is prepared. This is not ...
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